


Talk To Me

by angelcatsiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelcatsiel/pseuds/angelcatsiel
Summary: Request on tumblr: One where Dean and the reader are together and the reader cuts, but Dean doesn’t know. One day he finds out and he cry and get mad and sad and blames himself. Later on Dean comforts the reader and they make love





	Talk To Me

Things were going further than they should. Once again, you had to put a stop to this, but it wasn’t easy.

You were on the couch, lying back as Dean’s lips traced a path down your neck. His weight pinned you against the couch and his hands roamed your waist, and you ached for more, but you couldn’t. “Dean,” you murmured.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Dean, stop.”

He immediately pulled away. “Still not ready, huh?” Taking your hand, he rubbed his thumb comfortingly over your knuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, and you felt overwhelmed with guilt.

“I’m sorry…”

“Hey, no, it’s ok. We can wait.”

He sat up, pulling you with him as you tried to explain. “It’s not you, I promise.”

This was the third time this had happened, the third time you had pushed him away. He’d been your boyfriend for months, and you still hadn’t had sex. You weren’t ready for him to see what you’d done. Maybe if it was old scars, you’d eventually find the courage, but the cuts never even had time to heal before you were adding more.

Dean cleared his throat. “Listen, Y/N… you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ok? If you’re not ready, or you just don’t want that, it’s ok. But, when you’re ready… can you at least tell me why?”

You swallowed, shaking your head. “Not yet.”

“Because if it’s something you’re worried about, something I can help with, then I want to know.”

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes. You had thought about it, really you had. How long could this go on? But all you said was, “maybe later.”

That night, you found yourself on the bathroom floor yet again, clutching a razor blade, wiping away tears of frustration and self-hate. Self harm was exactly how you’d gotten into this mess, and now here you were, cutting yourself to deal with it. The problem had become the solution, and the solution in turn was adding to the problem, and you were trapped in a cycle you didn’t know how to break.

When you finally slipped back to the bedroom you shared with Dean, cuts bandaged and blade hidden, he stirred as you crawled back under the covers. “You were a long time.”

You tensed as you lay beside him. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Why were you checking to make sure I was asleep before you left?”

“I wasn’t,” you protested. “I just… I was just saying, I thought you were.”

“What’s that?”

“What?”

Dean sat up, switching on the light, and you groaned. “Dean, can we just go to sleep?”

He took your hand, turning it palm up. “Your hand’s bleeding.”

You sat up with a start, realising that you must have sliced your hand on the blade without even realising. “What did you do to it?”

“I don’t know,” you stammered. “I didn’t notice…”

“How could you not have noticed? What were you even doing?”

You didn’t answer as Dean got up, opening a drawer and grabbing the first aid kit, putting it on the bed. He grabbed the small flask of alcohol in there, taking your hand and holding it away from the bed as he splashed alcohol over the wound, and you flinched, but suffered in silence. “I don’t think it’ll need stitches,” he told you as he began to bandage it gently. “Any more I should look at?”

You shook your head, though you could feel your eyes filling with tears. You fought to control them. “I don’t know how it happened, Dean, I swear.”

“What were you doing earlier when you thought I was asleep?”

“I went to the bathroom.”

“For an hour?”

You couldn’t think of a single excuse. You couldn’t even speak, or you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. “Y/N, talk to me,” Dean begged. “I knew you checked to see if I was asleep before you went. I didn’t follow you, because I wanted to trust you. I want you to trust me.”

Finally your tears spilled free, and you couldn’t hold them back. “Don’t make me stop, please, I can’t stop…”

“Stop what?” Dean had been rubbing your back a moment ago, but now his hand stilled. “Y/N…”

For the first time in the year you had known the Winchesters, you lifted back your sleeve, revealing your arm.

Dean got up and left the room without saying a word.

Bringing your knees up to your chest, you wrapped your arms around them and shook with sobs. You knew it. You had known all along he wouldn’t want anything to do with you if he found out, and now you had been careless, and ruined everything… this relationship had been a mistake, you’d known it all along.

You flinched at the sound of glass shattering. Wiping at your eyes, you got to your feet, following the sound of the noise. It was coming from the library; you paused at the door, peering inside.

Dean stood there, taking deep, deliberate breaths. A muscle jumped in his jaw. As you watched, he swung out suddenly, knocking the lamps off one of the tables, watching them smash against the wall.

Was he… crying?

You stepped tentatively into the room. “Dean?”

Dean rubbed a hand across his face. “Dammit, Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

You flinched, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Because I knew this would happen. I knew you’d hate me.”

Dean turned to you, his eyes wide. “You think I hate you?”

You pulled the shirt you were wearing- one of Dean’s far too big flannel shirts that you slept in- closer around you and averted your gaze as he walked towards you. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Y/N…”

You turned away, hurrying back not to Dean’s room, but to your own, which you had slept in before you had started dating Dean. Climbing onto the bed, you curled up on your side, silent tears creeping down your cheeks. You’d ruined everything. Maybe next time you should cut a little deeper, a little too deep.

Dean knocked on the door softly. “Hey. Can I come in?”

You fiddled with the bed covers, choosing not to answer. The door creaked softly, Dean coming to sit beside you on the bed. He reached out, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Listen, I’m not very good at this kind of thing,” he said, “but I don’t hate you. I’m angry with myself, I should have realised sooner.”

You shook your head. “I should have told you,” you whispered.

“Well, I get why you didn’t.”

You sat up, leaning against him and resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. But I wasn’t angry at you, ok?” He placed a hand on your chin, turning you to face him, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few years,” you admitted. “It’s the only thing that helps me cope. I don’t think I could survive without it.”

Dean took your hand. “Well… could you maybe try talking to me first?” he suggested. “You don’t have to just stop, you can take it slow. But maybe try talking to me when you want to hurt yourself, and see how you feel after that? Could you just try it?”

You nodded. “I’ll try. I promise.” You tilted your head up, and he kissed you softly. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, slipping your hand just beneath his shirt.

“Y/N, we don’t have to do this…”

“I want to,” you murmured, guiding his hand to your waist. “You want to, right?”

“Hell yeah, I want to,” Dean replied, “but… are you sure?”

You nodded, trailing your lips down his neck, and Dean tightened his hands on your waist, one slipping down to your ass and squeezing gently. You gasped, climbing onto his lap to straddle him and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Dean helped shrug it off, revealing the AC/DC shirt he wore underneath, and you giggled. “How many layers do you need?”

Dean pulled off the under shirt, revealing his bare chest, muscular from hunting but not too toned, the anti possession tattoo standing out sharply on his chest, and you traced your fingers over the pattern. He was perfect.

Dean tugged at the hem of your own shirt, and you lifted your arms, helping him lift it off over your head. He reached around for the clasp of your bra, unfastening it deftly and easing the straps down your arms. Automatically you crossed your arms over your chest shyly, but Dean grabbed your wrists, pulling them away. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples, and you let out a breathy exhale, beginning to grind your hips against the growing bulge in his jeans. He reached down to unzip his pants, his dick pressing against the front of his boxers, and he threw his head back with a groan as you ground against him.

Placing his hands on your hips, Dean lifted you off his lap, and you collapsed back onto the bed as he leaned over you, running his hands over your bare skin. His lips followed the touch, leaving kisses across your collarbone and down your chest, his mouth briefly pausing over a nipple, and you moaned, burying your hand in his hair. Dean continued to leave a trail of kisses down your stomach, pausing to unfasten your jeans, and you tensed a little as he pulled them down, revealing yet more scars on your thighs, including the freshly bandaged cuts from earlier. He trailed gentle fingers over the scars, and pressed a gentle kiss onto the bandage. “That feel better?”

You laughed softly. “Much better. You cured me.”

Dean grinned up at you, before taking hold of your panties, pulling them down. You couldn’t help but feel nervous, closing your legs, but he placed his hands on your thighs, guiding them open again. He placed his hands on your hips, thumbs stroking at the sensitive skin at the top of your inner thighs, tantalisingly close to your centre as he followed the touch with kisses, and you felt yourself beginning to relax. Finally he licked a stripe up between your folds, spreading you open with his tongue, and you gasped, your hips bucking up towards him. Dean pinned your hips down before he carried on, almost too slow and gentle at first, until you were squirming on the bed. “Dean, please…”

He removed one hand from your hip, stroking his fingers up and down your entrance until he slid them inside, crooking them upwards and finding your g-spot easily. Finally, a guy who knew what he was doing. He massaged that spot inside you until you felt dizzy with pleasure, his tongue still working against your clit. “Fuck, Dean…”

He moaned softly, and you whimpered, running your fingers through his hair. He slid a third finger inside you, his tongue circling your clit, and you arched your back as you came with a soft cry, your free hand gripping the blankets beneath you. Dean’s fingers and tongue worked you through your orgasm until you tightened your grip on his hair, pulling him away with a whimper as you became too sensitive. Dean crawled up to lay beside you, and you kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips while you reached down to slip a hand beneath his boxers, running your fingers up and down his length slowly. Dean groaned, pulling down his pants and boxers and kicking them off, and you propped yourself up on one elbow, your hand pumping his length gently.

Bucking his hips into the touch, Dean gasped, “there’s condoms in the top drawer.” He nodded to the dresser at the side of the bed. “I mean, not that we have to…”

You grinned, reaching for the drawer and burrowing through it until you located a condom, tearing it open. You slid it over Dean’s cock, and he pressed a hand to your chest, pushing you back to lie on the bed. Sliding his hand down your body, he slipped two fingers inside you, checking you were still ready for him, before leaning down to press his lips to yours. “You sure you want this?”

“Dean, I’ve wanted this since I met you,” you replied, and he grinned, pressing one more kiss to your lips before pressing into you slowly. You gasped at the feeling of him filling you at last, and Dean buried his head in your neck with a groan, his breath hot on your skin. You bucked your hips against him, hearing him moan in response. “Move, Dean, please…”

He didn’t need telling twice, his hips rolling against yours as he thrust into you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer, and he wrapped a hand in your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your neck, sucking a mark into your throat. You whimpered, your back arching as he reached between you to rub your clit in small circles, the pressure in your stomach and thighs building once more. “Dean…”

“You,” he murmured between kisses to your neck, “are… so… beautiful.” His lips connected with yours once more before he murmured against your mouth, “scars or no scars. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You ran your hands down his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he thrust into you. “Fuck, Dean, I’m gonna come again…”

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, and you moaned as your second orgasm coursed through you. Your walls clenched around Dean’s dick, and he gasped as he came, his fingers tightening in your hair.

Dean stayed still for a moment, catching his breath, before pulling out, collapsing beside you and pulling off the condom, tying it and tossing it on the floor. “You’d better pick that up,” you mumbled sleepily, but smiled up at him.

“In a minute,” he replied. “Right now I just wanna make sure you know how fucking gorgeous you are.”

“You already told me that,” you replied, giggling as he began peppering your face with kisses. “Dean, stop,” you laughed, and he grinned as he pulled away.

Tucking your hair back behind your ear, he murmured, “you still promise to talk to me?”

You nodded. “I promise. Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…”

“Hey.” He pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you. “It’s ok. I get why you were scared. But you know I won’t ever be angry with you, ok?”

He leaned in to kiss you once more. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is not meant to romanticise self harm. You can still love yourself and be loved by others, not despite your scars, but with them.


End file.
